


Snow

by gonergone



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a moment Henry's fingers twined with his, squeezing lightly, pressure barely there before it was gone.  As much as Walt hated to admit it, between the two of them Henry had always been the one who was more fearless, who took the big risks and did it so easily that most people weren't even aware that he was doing it unless they paid attention.  Sometimes Walt thought he was the only one who did pay attention, the only one who had any idea exactly what Henry Standing Bear was capable of.  Henry was his little secret, and that thought had warmed him on colder nights than the one unfolding around the roof, because part of him hoped that it meant that Henry was his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlestdoc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestdoc/gifts).



The first time they kissed, they were fourteen and sitting on the roof of the Standing Bear house, overlooking the snow and silence of a winter night on the Rez. It was cold, the wind tearing down from the Big Horns and finding nothing to stop it, nothing but wide open plains, so it pressed the snow into drifts around the houses and whipped against their faces. Later, standing in the jungles of Vietnam and breathing air so thick with humidity he felt like he was drowning, Walt would remember the shockingly crisp mountain wind with the fondness of a lover, and he thought that wherever he was, Henry was probably doing the same. 

*

At the time, crawling out Henry's window to sit on the roof had seemed like a good idea. They had a half-empty bottle of vodka that they passed back and forth between them, and everything seemed like a good idea. The roof had a wicked slope to it, but the wind had cleared off most of the snow, and they climbed out gingerly, using each other for anchors, bare hands clasped tightly as they slid slightly on the slick surface, trying to find any purchase they could. Walt knocked his head back against the shingles and dropped the bottle, feeling it fly out of his hand and into the night like a grenade. He scrambled for it, knowing it was useless, but Henry picked it out of the air like it was nothing, like he hadn't had just as much to drink as Walt had, like it wasn't impossible to see anything in the pitch darkness. 

"I will hold on to this," he said, and even though Walt couldn't see his face, he knew he was smiling. Walt often wondered if it was normal to want to punch your best friend constantly.

"You do that," he said, or tried to. His lips had gone numb, either from the cold or the alcohol, and most of what came out was a slurred mess. Not that it mattered: he knew Henry would understand anyway. Henry always did.

Walt lay back and looked up at the stars, at the expanse of Wyoming ceiling stretched out before him. He'd seen that view all his life, so much that he'd come to take it for granted. Seeing it and really looking at it was something else, and he felt like he could stare up at it forever. Or, at least until he felt Henry shuffle closer, jarring him out of his reverie. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, even as he reached out to steady him and pull him down beside him.

"It is cold," Henry observed, master of understatement. He pushed lightly into Walt's side.

"We should've brought a blanket," Walt sighed, eyeing the incline back to Henry's window. He had no idea how they were going to get back up there. 

Henry hummed in agreement, drinking greedily from the bottle before tipping it toward Walt. (But not, Walt noticed, actually letting Walt hold it again.) 

Henry at least had had the presence of mind to put his coat on, and without a bottle to hold onto Walt stuffed his hands into the pocket closest to him, rubbing them automatically, wincing as the feeling started to come back.

After a moment Henry's fingers twined with his, squeezing lightly, pressure barely there before it was gone. As much as Walt hated to admit it, between the two of them Henry had always been the one who was more fearless, who took the big risks and did it so easily that most people weren't even aware that he was doing it unless they paid attention. Sometimes Walt thought he was the only one who did pay attention, the only one who had any idea exactly what Henry Standing Bear was capable of. Henry was his little secret, and that thought had warmed him on colder nights than the one unfolding around the roof, because part of him hoped that it meant that Henry was his.

Not that he'd ever said that aloud to Henry. Not that he needed to.

There was a dull thud as Henry set the bottle down somewhere on the other side of him

Walt traced his thump across Henry's palm, slowly working his way up to his wrist. Even through the haze of alcohol he could feel the tension in Henry's body, tension that was pulling his muscles tauter with every passing moment. Walt could only hope he wasn't misreading the situation – but he didn't think he was. Not with Henry. 

The first kiss was just a light press of his dry lips to Henry's sharp cheek, a question more than anything else. When Henry didn't pull away, Walt kissed him again, this time getting at least in the vicinity of his mouth. It took one more kiss before Henry responded, lips moving under Walt's.

Walt shifted, pulling his hands free of Henry's coat so he could reach for him, raking through long dark hair until he felt the warm curve of Henry's cheek under his palm. He traced the feeling of skin down to Henry's neck before the coat's collar got in his way, and he had an wild instant of wondering how he could get Henry's coat and shirt off so he could keep exploring before he remembered where they were. Inside, then. They'd have to go back through the open window to Henry's room and then… and then…

He was hard, and he knew Henry was, too, knew without having to ask that they'd be on the same page about this. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered this a thousand times, for years, and there was a good chance that Henry knew all about that, too. He just hadn't ever considered it a real possibility. They'd never spoken about it. Maybe, he thought vaguely, that was why Henry had pulled out the bottle of vodka as soon as Walt had arrived. Maybe there wasn't much point in words. 

Walt was aware that there was a rattling, sloshing sound that came from somewhere close by, but he was too interested in exploring Henry's mouth to pay any attention to it. He didn't think there was anything in the world more interesting than Henry's tongue at the moment, and he wasn't sure that even the spectre of the Dog Soldier appearing before them would have convinced him otherwise. 

Henry, being contrary, ornery Henry, had other ideas. He sat up carefully, disentangling his limbs from Walt's and leaving all of Walt suddenly cold. Walt had almost managed to forget about the wind, and he wrapped his arms around himself, wishing like hell for that blanket. "What's wrong?"

Henry was peering down the roof into the darkness where it dropped away. "The bottle fell." He sounded perplexed. "I did not hear it break."

"Maybe it didn't fall all the way," Walt said hopefully. The bottle breaking would definitely be enough to wake up Henry's father, who wouldn't take kindly to the vodka or them drinking it on the roof in the middle of the night. Walt wasn't afraid of the elder Standing Bear, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with him, either. 

"I do not see it on the roof," Henry sighed.

"It's too dark to see anything," Walt countered. 

"Speak for yourself, white man," Henry told him, and Walt could hear the smile again.

Walt skidded himself down the roof after Henry, sliding dangerously close to the edge. 

"Be careful," Henry said quietly, peering into the gutter.

"I'm always careful," Walt sniffed at him, right before he fell off the roof. 

He tried to grab onto anything, but there was only air. He felt himself falling and closed his eyes, wondering how many limbs he was about to break. It wasn't a long fall, he knew that, but it seemed to go on forever before something closed over his head. 

He felt the impact of something heavy to his right, but he was too dazed to move. He lay still for several seconds, trying to understand what had happened. He should be splattered across the Standing Bear driveway. He should be hurt, maybe dead. Instead he'd fallen on something relatively soft. It took a moment for realization to seep through his vodka-soaked brain, even with his fingers pressing helplessly into the material around his head. Snow. A lot of snow. The wind had pushed up a snow drift against the house. 

That was as far as he got before hands were shoving him over onto his back. "Are you breathing?" Henry's voice asked, managing to sound both pissed and concerned at the same time. 

Walt had to consider the question for a second. "I'm fine, I think," he said, wiggling his arms and legs. 

Henry sat back with a sigh. "Idiot. I told you to be careful."

"You fell, too," Walt pointed out. He tried to get to his feet but kept slipping on the loose snow. "I'm not sure why I'm the idiot."

"I did not fall," Henry protested. "I jumped after you."

That was enough to make Walt stop struggling and blink at him. "You jumped? You didn't even know if I was okay!"

Henry shrugged, his eyes flicking away. Walt knew that if he'd been able to see him better he'd see the blush crawling across Henry's cheeks, the one that seemed reserved just for him. He was beginning to think he might know why that was.

Before he could say anything about it, though, the porch light snapped on and the front door clattered open. Henry's father loomed out of the dark house, glaring at them both. "Inside," he growled before disappearing into the living room.

Henry pulled Walt to his feet, holding onto his arm until Walt had proved he could stagger more or less upright without help. Henry himself didn't seem to have any problems walking, and Walt silently added that to the long list of reasons he'd definitely one day punch Henry right in the mouth.

Before they got onto the porch, though, he felt Henry's palm slide against his, fingers tightening. Walt squeezed back and saw half of Henry's mouth quirk up. It was more than enough to make whatever punishment they were about to face worth it.


End file.
